


Another Day at the Office

by trivialFabricant



Category: Doom (Video Games), Doom Eternal - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23770288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trivialFabricant/pseuds/trivialFabricant
Summary: Brief pieces featuring the women of Doom Eternal.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 49





	1. Life after Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment in the life of iconic UAC human resources employee Jessica after the events of the game. Mostly silly, slightly moody.

Jessica picks her way through the rubble, smoothes down her skirt and sits at her desk. It used to be a corner office. Now it's just a corner; one filing cabinet still standing, the other having tumbled out when the walls were destroyed. She thinks she's probably found it crushed in one of the vast footprints left by the Icon of Sin. But maybe that was some other office worker's filing cabinet, or a car, or a trash can. Well, and maybe the Hell Priests will release some funding for digital storage next time around.

The commute, at least, is easier. She appreciates the upper body strength she's built up over years of working with the UAC and their unique approach to workplace accessibility, but now she can simply clamber over several slabs of still-smouldering rubble rather than taking the corporation's signature monkey-bars-over-scarlet-lightning-pits corridor. The risk of tetanus is higher, the risk of falling endlessly into an empty void significantly lower. Absently, she begins to make a note to update the risk assessment, before realising 'R' is in the filing cabinet that went over the edge.

The first few days after the attack she'd seen others picking through the debris. Some of them UAC advocates, a few mortally challenged, and, increasingly, scavengers - human and animal alike. But she rarely has to use the EMG pistol she keeps in her top drawer; something about the sight of her, sitting neatly at the one surviving desk and going through paperwork, seems to warn them away. Unlike seemingly everybody else, the longer the Icon of Sin had been on Earth, the stronger she had become.

They said the Slayer slaughtered a path right through the office. Well, and if he'd made an appointment, Jessica would have been pleased to meet with him. Not that she'd have held out much hope - his communication skills are infamously poor - but networking matters in her line of business. As it was, she'd been absorbed in a particularly difficult piece of payroll, and the shootout had been over before she'd looked up. Sloppy, she thinks. He left some alive. Not a mistake Jessica would have made.

"Uh… uh, miss?"

Jessica shakes her head, already unimpressed. Can't he see she's working?

"Miss. We're clearing out this sector. I can't believe you're still alive. Will you come with us, please."

She closes her eyes for a moment, sets a smile on her face and looks up. Her irritant is a… probably mortal, given that the flak jacket doesn't seem to be welded to his skin, or glowing with infernal radiance. Then she notices the triangular badge. Interesting. She'd heard the ARC was reforming, despite the death of Dr. Hayden. Well and good. For a healthy corporation, a little competition can be stimulating.

She sets down her pen. "I'm afraid I am fully booked this morning. As you can see," and a gesture takes in the entire 11th floor of the building, what is left of it, "There really is a lot to be getting on with. If it is urgent, please speak to my assistant - I believe there is a piece of him over there."

On some level, of course, she knows that what she is saying is utterly mad. The part of her which knows that is very small, and very quiet, and has not for a long time been on speaking terms with the part of her which, as the ARC trooper steps in to escort her away, slides the pistol out of her drawer and calmly shoots him in the face.

Fortunately she gets the angle exactly right and very little of the resulting mess strikes her desk. She sighs and brushes a layer of ash and viscera from the top of her notepad. This will just be another piece of paperwork to fill in. Honestly - can't these people see she's busy?


	2. Log V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another office, another woman of Doom who is perhaps not all she seems.

_"... there is only one dominant life form in this universe and it carries a steel barreled sword of vengeance. All hail the coming of the Destroyer - the Slayer's time is now."_

With an unreadable smile, Dr. Elena Richardson toggles her voice recorder and commits the log to the ARC mainframe. She's stopped reviewing them before submission - she's not even working from script. As the situation escalated there didn't really seem to be much point any more. One could say that satire is dead, but truth is it died a long time ago along with most everything else. All that remains is for somebody to finish the job.

She picks up a green plastic toy on her desk and raises the helmeted figure's arm, flicking his tiny palm with a perfectly polished fingernail. "Here's to you, Destroyer." Tapping away with her other hand, she brings up the internal facility layout. Clearance granted, as of yesterday. Of course. Everybody knows she's the Slayer's biggest fan. A researcher like her who belives in the cause is just what the ARC needs. Just what it deserves.

Let's see... entrances to the underground complex are sealed up tight, what with the increased activity in Locke, but there are a few promising looking ventilation shafts. She notes their locations and composes a message in her stealthed implant, wincing as its Argent capacitor discharges & sears the lining of her throat. A continuum gate opened up here and there, a few more infiltrators before the ARC know what hit them, and, well. Just so long as she gets to watch. Maybe she'll even play her logs back, for a laugh.

"Good luck," she whispers to the figurine on her desk. She takes hold of its outstretched arm and begins to apply pressure, causing it to bend unnaturally at the shoulder. The plastic whitens, warps and eventually snaps, coming away from the socket with a satisfying pop. "You, and that traitor Samur, are going to need it."


End file.
